


Gratuiti

by Anonymous



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Buried Alive, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Major Character Injury, Self-Sacrifice, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26156662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Caught in an explosion and suffering from life-threatening injuries, Dick makes the difficult choice to put the lives of others above his own.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 84
Collections: Anonymous





	Gratuiti

The first thing he became aware of was the suffocating darkness — the complete lack of light or any sort of visibility.

His first thought was that something was covering his eyes, but in the pursuit of testing that theory, he realized he couldn't move his arms. Something was horribly wrong. 

He took a sharp breath, but stopped himself from exhaling too fast when agony erupted from somewhere around his sternum. A strangled cry forced itself from his throat before being swallowed by the dark abyss surrounding him.

His stagnant senses slowly returned after the pain morphed into a dull ache. The air was thick with dust and smoke to the point where it made his nostrils burn. The polluted air combined with what was probably several broken ribs made breathing particularly cumbersome. 

Alright, okay — not good.

He closed his eyes, or he thinks he did, and focused on assessing his situation like Bruce taught him. First, he attempted to wiggle his fingers. He was relieved to find the digits moving without trouble — he wasn't missing any, at the very least. Something hard and heavy pinned both arms on either sides of his torso, but aside from his chest, nothing seemed to he shattered or broken.

Next, he attempted to move his toes, only to have dread settle in the pit of his stomach when it dawned on him that he couldn't _feel_ them. In fact, he couldn't feel anything below his abdomen. _He couldn't feel anything._

His heart thumped loudly in his ears as panic set in. His ribcage erupted in pain as he involuntarily started hyperventilating. Every choked gasp for air was futile and brought another wave of nausea and pain, but he couldn't stop.

All he could think about was that the lower half of his body felt like it might not even _be there_. He was pinned in a small, dark space without feeling in anything below his pelvis. He could be _missing limbs_ right now and not feel it. He could be—

The monotone ringing in his ears was interrupted by static before a familiar voice filtered through and saved him from spyralling further.

_"...wing...copy...do you...me?"_

Comms. He still had comms.

Comms that he couldn't reach. Biting his tongue, he tested which arm had more mobility. After settling on the left one, he braced himself and started tugging it out from under the heavy weight. The object was rough and unwilling to let him go without a fight.

He grit his teeth as the concrete (?) dug into his skin and dragged deep cuts down his forearm. Something warm and wet — blood — streamed down his arm, but it was free.

Ignoring the scathing heat coming from the newly acquired lacerations, he pressed his finger to the communicator.

"H-Hello?"

The word grated on his throat and he realized that dehydration was just another irritation he had to endure. He wanted to weep from happiness when that voice came through again, more clear this time.

_"Nightwing! Thank God — I thought you might've—"_

Tim. That was Tim. Were they on patrol before all this? A field mission?

"What...what happened?"

_"A bomb. You went in to help evacuate the building. It blew before you got out. You scared us. Batman is—"_

The rest was drowned out by Dick's thoughts again. An explosion?

He was trapped in the debris then. It was a miracle he was even alive to begin with. But...he went in to get people out before it blew, but he was too late. That means he's not the only one who got caught in the blast.

"How many? How many didn't make it out?"

_"You got most of them out of harm's way. We think about fifteen people were still inside when it hit."_

Fifteen. Fifteen civilians were either dead or trapped like he was. A painful knot formed in his chest. He wouldn't wish this terror upon anyone. Swallowing, he spoke again,"A...and the rescue efforts?"

 _"Underway. We have the locations of four_ _survivors and we're working on getting them out, but it's going slow — the GC fire department is lacking manpower."_

Things aren't looking up then. Wonderful.

_"I just needed comms to pin your location down. What's your status?"_

He swallowed thickly. _I can't feel my legs_...is what he wanted to say, very badly.

Instead, he asked,"How long will you need to get the other survivors out?"

_"I... I don't know. Four hours minimum with the way things are going."_

Four hours. If they stretched their manpower more in order to start digging him out, it would take much more time. Time that the other survivors might not have.

He didn't need immediate help. Sure, he couldn't feel the lower half of his body, but he was breathing a bit easier. His arm wasn't a major cause for concern. He could manage four hours of this if it meant other lives were being saved.

_"...Wing? Nightwing!"_

He flinched and had to bite back a grunt when the movement jostled his ribcage. Straining, he rasped,"I-I'm here."

_"What's your status?"_

_My chest is in fire,_ "I'm pinned. Can't remember anything before the blast. Possible concussion, maybe a broken rib," a sharp ache,"or— or two."

_"Are you bleeding?"_

He thought about the sticky substance coating his entire arm,"...hard to tell."

_"I'll notify Batman and get an EMT to your loc—"_

"No." He interrupted, ignoring the part of him that wanted to scream for help,"H-Help the other survivors first."

_"Wing, are you sure?"_

Tim sounded hesitant, and Dick wanted nothing but to tell him that he wasn't — that he was terrified and in so much pain.

"I'm sure. Save me for last."

There was a brief silence on Tim's end, then, _"Alright, but notify me immediately if something changes, okay?_ "

"Y-You got it, boss."

It took everything in him to keep the stutter out of his voice. He wanted to cry when the connection cut off and he was left alone again. He reminded himself that he was doing the right thing. The bystanders came first. 

So, he had four hours to kill. He might as well attempt to make sense of his inability to move. With his left arm now free, he decided to reach down to his waist. The numbness remained as he prodded around his hips for any sign of injury. His hand bumped against another large concrete block lying on top of his legs. They were still attached to his being as far as he could tell. That's one good sign, but he still couldn't understand why he couldn't feel them. Even if they were crushed with all the bones broken — he should be feeling _something_.

He kept moving his hand across his lower half until he encountered a familiar warm liquid soaking the suit above his pelvis. His breath caught in his throat.

He traced the origin of the blood to a sharp metallic object protruding from the skin right above his left hip. A chill went up his spine as he moved his hand around to pad under his lower back and found a pool of blood forming beneath him. _He was impaled on a broken pipe._

He was _impaled_ and he couldn't _feel_ it. Nausea overtook him. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head to wretch, but a sharp headache sparked in protest to the movement. White spots clouded the corners of his vision. Trying to vomit didn't go over well with his crushed chest and pain spread all over his torso. Tears pricked at his eyelids.

He didn't know how long he was frozen like that, too afraid to move and make it worse. After some time, there was a soft crackling noise before Tim's voice flooded his ears again, providing a moment's reprieve from his personal hell.

_"Wing, you still there?"_

"T-Tim?"

_"No names in the field, remember? Are you alright?"_

He took control of his labored breathing. No, he was not alright in any sense of the word.

"I..."

But would asking for help be the right thing to do?

Other people were trapped just like he was. He was losing blood rapidly and had a metal cylinder forcing its way through his flesh. He was probably going to bleed out if he didn't get immediate help. Only, that wasn't possible. With the little manpower they had, it would take too long to extract him safely. He would die anyway, and they would have _wasted_ precious time.

Holding back a sob, he made his choice.

"I'm alright."

His voice fell into a broken whisper at the end, but it seemed to be enough to sound convincing.

_"Good. How are you doing on air?"_

Oh God, he forgot about that. No light filtered in through any opening, and the space was incredibly tight. He wouldn't have enough oxygen to last four hours. 

He wondered what would kill him first — asphyxiation or exsanguination?

"I-I'm still good," please save me, "How's the...the rescue efforts going?" His voice was starting to slur involuntarily.

_"We got a man out from the rubble. He's in critical condition, but I think we got to him just in time. He'll live."_

That provided Dick with some semblance of comfort. He wasn't enduring this for nothing. He had to say something before he lost the ability to speak completely, "T-Timbo?"

_"Red Robin, Wing. No names."_

"RR— s-sorry."

He didn't know how to get the words across without sounding a million alarm bells in Tim's head. He was a smart kid. Dick wanted to express how much he loved him and the others — tell him how he wished he had done things _differently_.

He wanted to apologize to Jason for not being the best brother he could've been before the Joker took him from them. He wanted to tell Bruce how much he appreciated everything he did for him, even if their relationship was rocky and strained.

He wanted to say sorry for not being there when Tim needed him most, not being there to save Babs when she was paralyzed, not staying in Gotham when he _knew_ Damian didn't want him to go. He regretted being too caught up in his own selfish desires to accept his family's help when he had amnesia. 

_Alfred died_ , and he wasn't there. He never got to say goodbye. Maybe he didn't deserve that closure. Maybe he didn't deserve it now.

_"Nightwing, what were you going to say?"_

He let the tears flow freely, a sorrowful smile gracing his lips,"...nothing. It's nothing."

_"Alright. I'll check in again soon."_

He had to cover his mouth to stifle a sob as the line was cut.

He was getting lightheaded.

He could taste blood in his mouth.

A cough ripped through his chest and made him sputter.

Blood mixed with tears tapped down his jawline. 

Eventually, the pain in his body dulled and he lost all feeling.

He thought about his family and friends as the debris fell away. 

Black faded to black, and before he knew it, _he was lost to the world._


End file.
